The Line
by his loss
Summary: Throwback to an older piece. He tilted his chin down to soak in the familiar words, fully expecting Axel Rote to start up with the lame pickup lines.


**The Line**

* * *

_I disclaim all legal rights to these characters. So there._

_To the good old days, and its players._

* * *

It was a Wednesday.

To Roxas it felt more like a Monday, and he scowled at his feet as the city bus tossed him like a bead in a rattle. He hated the bus, honestly. But he'd forgotten his skateboard that morning and his shift at work ended late. Pence had a car but was on the other side of town, still at work and Roxas would rather swallow a box of nails than call his 'brother in law' for a ride, so the bus it was.

The idea of riding the bus itself was charming – Twilight Town was that kind of place: trolleys and bike paths and cute tucked in parks – but at night it had its sinister tones in the alleys and the sloping steep hill roads. By night the city suddenly became this gritty, suffocating place. The people that rode the night buses were equal parts strange and scary: women with pounds of makeup, greasy looking dropouts who had probably lost the ability to walk under the sun, pregnant women who screamed at anyone sitting in a seat they felt entitled to, old men dressed to the nines. Roxas hugged his jacket to himself and tried to take up as little space as possible, not wanting anyone to take notice of him on this fucked up middle of the week night that felt like he'd been living it for thirty-six hours straight.

Across the aisle, Axel Rote – Roxas had been reminded of the name three times already – grinned at him as though he were the last cookie in the jar and mother wasn't around to stop him. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he kept his face steady, even as the bus lurched off from its stop to continue the route.

Truth be told this was not the first time Roxas had ridden the bus so late after work. It was actually the fifth in two weeks, and this was the third time he'd found himself forcing his eyes away from the taller man's to latch onto the floor.

Axel's eyes were in some expressions soft jade and in others vicious malachite. His third time meeting the man and Roxas already knew this. He also knew that the other man;s hands were large and graceful. Beautifully shaped. Long, tapered fingers. Roxas honestly wanted those hands to _touch_ him. They'd just rattled past the first two stops and already Roxas was fighting this internal battle with himself. He squashed the pleasingly vulgar thoughts by pulling a thin paperback novel from his jacket's inner pocket. It was a small, thin, volume, dog-eared and well loved.

He tilted his chin down to soak in the familiar words, fully expecting Axel Rote to start up with the lame pickup lines. Instead, quote the asshole, "_I see everything. Everything that there is._" Roxas forgot that he shouldn't look up and did. Axel Rote's eyes were blasphemous. Thankfully, the next stop was his and Roxas felt he could survive. The bus rounded the corner and he read one more paragraph – though he knew the book by heart – before folding it away and pulling himself to his feet, wrapping his thin arms around the pole. Axel Rote tipped an imaginary hat to him as the bus lurched to a halt and the driver called out the street names in a gravelly voice reeking apathy.

Roxas jumped the space between the step and the curb, and as his shoe hit the sidewalk, all of the forbidden fantasies rushed at him. Hands running along his back, burning. Terribly beautiful eyes locked with his.

He vowed to never take the bus again, Yevon his witness.

* * *

A pity.

He'd always liked Thursday.

* * *

This one seemed to be in cahoots with the past Monday or the upcoming Tuesday in its sourness.

Work was good and mundane and a little perfect, though that was pushing it. He had not forgotten his skateboard and the sun was hung low and golden. If he hurried, he could make it home before nightfall and therefore avoid that gang of show tune singing panhandlers in the park.

The corner of the first completed street block rose up to greet him and smacked him right into the asphalt. The trucks of his board folded, knocking sideways and splitting a crack against the roman numeral XIII. One wheel rolled maniacally down the opposite street, out of sight. It was fantastic, really.

Understandably, Roxas cursed as loudly as the hour would allow. He snatched up his board and rose shakily to his feet. One knee was scraped brutally and his palms stung. Ahead of him, the bus was charging up to the corner of Sunset and 8th. He exhaled sharply, aggravated. The bus it would be.

There were no seats to be had, so Roxas took the most convenient handhold and hoped that the bus wouldn't sway enough to throw him off his tip-toe stance.

But this Thursday was two Wednesdays ago – the first day in a hot minute he had to resort to the damn city bus – in disguise and at the next stop the bus shifted lanes so dramatically Shakespeare wouldn't have seen it coming. Roxas lost his grip and was dropped teen drama style into the lap of the man behind him.

Axel Rote chuckled low and smoldering. "I knew you'd come to me sooner or later." A number of people flooded out onto Main Street, and the seat beside Axel Rote was suddenly empty. Roxas sank into it.

"Give me your leg," Axel commanded.

Roxas blinked eloquently.

Axel reached over and lifted the leg onto his lab, producing a pristinely kept first aid kit from his coat.

It took a moment for Roxas to register that his wound was being tended to. His mouth was a little late to the party, at any rate.

"What the hell are you doing?" he blurted, a little louder than he'd intended.

Axel swabbed at his skin with a practiced manner and applied a thin ointment, then a flexible bandage. Then, "…are you a doctor or something?"

Axel gently lifted the knee off of his lap and smiled one of those soft jade smiles. "School nurse. And volunteer fireman. First aid is sort of a reflex."

Roxas barely noticed the unholy jump that shook the frame of the entire bus as they rode away from the third stop.

"Thanks," he said finally. "I owe you."

Axel grinned. "Can I cash that in?"

Roxas felt his stomach trade place with his lungs. "W-what?"

"Tell me your name," the man pressed, his vowels smoking.

A long, long pause. The woman with the heavy eyeshadow in the back of the bus nudged the soggy looking fruit across the aisle and tilted her fake chin in their direction. The fruit toned down his iPod and sat up.

"Roxas," Roxas said finally. "Strife," added as an afterthought.

Axel nodded.

"Good night, Roxas Strife."

Roxas's shoes touched the sidewalk with all the gravity of a moonwalk.

* * *

It took him a full four days to purposely take the bus.

He had the next day off work, so he planned to ride along for five more stops so that he could crash at Hayner's.

He was greeted with the same grudging attention from the driver – a man with thinning blonde hair and a heavy underbite. "Behind the yellow line," he grumbled. Roxas shuffled over obediently and held onto the plexiglass barrier as the bus took off, scanning the long aisle. The small group of seats directly across from Axel Rote was empty. Roxas fell into the middle of them, doing his best to look as though he hadn't deliberately chosen to. Axel was studying a thick wire-bound magazine, but his eyes flickered up in acknowledgement.

"Hey, gorgeous. Come here often?"

Roxas fumed inwardly. His face remained blank, but Axel must have read it in his eyes because he nodded toward the knee.

"How is it?"

Roxas dropped his shoulders. "It's fine."

Axel nodded and went back to his reading. The long page flopping over his lap showed a diagram for burn treatment.

"It's for the monthly meeting. All volunteers have to have this stuff down," Axel spoke, making the shorter of the two jump, startled. Axel grinned. "I'm a registered nurse, so I actually get to perform emergency treatments on fire sites."

Roxas nodded, apologetic.

The bus rattled to a stop and most everyone cleared out. Besides them two, only a pregnant woman busy with a Nintendo, her permed black hair quivering as she mashed buttons, and a group of zombie teenagers with dead glow rings around their necks remained. Roxas was suddenly painfully aware of the near-aloneness and the reason for wanting it.

"The other night…" he began, cautiously. "Have you read that book?"

Axel shoved his study material to the empty seat to his left.

"G. K. Chesterson," he said, nodding. "Man was poet. A gent. A believer."

Roxas slowly exhaled.

"It's my favorite."

Axel smiled. "Good taste."

The bus pulled up to his usual stop and Roxas was surprised to see something in Axel's expression shift. It was a sort of transition, a preparation.

A small flood of people boarded, mostly a few tired looking businessmen and one woman in heels as high as the towering beehive she wore her hair in. Roxas didn't get up. Axel looked confused for a moment.

"I'm spending the night at Hayner's tonight," Roxas explained.

A flicker of something else entirely crossed the malachite iris.

The oldest looking man of the suits clutched his briefcase to hi barrel chest and touched the pregnant woman's ankle with his toe. She batted him away for a moment, then looked up, a skeptical wrinkle in her large forehead.

Two more stops and the bus was full. Roxas offered his seat to a man yammering on about Sin and took the handhold near Axel. The latter raised a red gold eyebrow and cautiously, very cautiously, reached out a hand to steady him as the bus took off.

* * *

Less than three weeks later found Roxas standing blatantly over Axel, hanging onto the nylon loop with the knuckles of his hands.

"Bukowski," he said.

Axel looked thoughtful. "raw with love."

Roxas ignored the invisible vice that squeezed every organ cradled between his ribs.

"Tomorrow is your day off, isn't it?"

Axel reached out to steady him as the bus sharply rounded the corner. "Yeah."

Roxas steeled himself, willing his nerve to be as indestructible as the bus itself. "It's not too late. Come over for some coffee? We could…" he racked his brain for an acceptable activity. "We could play chess." He remembered Axel saying he wasn't too adept at the game but enjoyed it.

Axel laughed, the sound like broken glass. "You want to play chess."

Roxas frowned and kicked him lightly in the shin. Axel smiled. "Sure. Yeah."

The soggy looking fruit with the bright red trainers leaned forward and poked the barrel-chested businessman, slipping him a ten munny note.

Roxas's place was a small, tightly knit traincar, living space at the front, bathroom at the very back. The walls were painted dark blue and rust. It took less than twenty minutes for the coffee to be ready, and by that time Axel had cornered Roxas's white pieces. He took his drink with a liberal dollop of honey and nothing else while Roxas had half milk. They finished the first game and started another but didn't finish because Roxas discovered his copy of _Pulp Fiction_ under the couch.

There was a note scribbled on the back of a Chinese takeout menu the next morning: _Took a cab. Sorry for falling asleep on your couch. Tuesday._

It became routine and expected and almost perfect. Ride three stops home, coffee, half a game of chess, movies or video games or whatever was on TV. Most nights they fell asleep on the couch and every morning Axel was gone because if he didn't have work early he had to check in at the free clinic to put in his volunteer hours. Roxas didn't bother to ask if the next day was a day off.

* * *

"So… what's his name?" Sora teased one Sunday.

"Shut up," Roxas retorted.

He wasn't sure what he and Axel were. There were moments. Fleeting. Axel's hand lingering a little too long. A look. _The_ look. Nothing concrete. Just possibilities. Honestly, Roxas was a little afraid. He'd had one or five relationships. None of them ended explosively. They all ended with a definitive period punctuated at the end of a three to eight week sentence. A couple of girls. More than a few guys. None worth mentioning. All introduced to his brother with little fanfare. All forgettable, as far as Sora was concerned. He shook hands cordially but didn't care to fawn over the obvious togetherness they shared with Roxas. Didn't really remember any names. Didn't extend more than the common courtesy. Didn't rush over to comfort Roxas when it was over. Over. Ever.

"Whatever," Sora mumbled affectionately. "I just think you look happy."

Roxas shrugged. "I'm doing alright."

Sora let it go, but while Roxas wasn't looking, he felt himself begin to hope.

* * *

Tuesday night. The chess board sat abandoned, Roxas's coffee cup beside it. The light from the TV fluttered over the soft folds of the couch. It was a small living room. Roxas more often than not tripped over the thin rug or a misplaced book or sock. Twice before he'd ended up wedged against Axel, trying to fold his long frame into his end. They'd pulled apart with dignity.

This Tuesday was most definitely in cahoots with last Monday or the Thursday before before before before before before that one. Axel reached out and finally got comfortable, hugging Roxas's shoulder to his chest. He smelled a little like something charred, but not unpleasantly so. The cotton of his Twilight City PS 118 staff shirt was warm. All of him was warm, and Roxas relaxed.

They slept more comfortably, more deliberately. When morning came, and Roxas knew, without question, that it was a day off, he gripped Axel's arm to his body.

"Just stay," he murmured into the space between them.

Axel shifted a little for comfort's sake and tried to fall back asleep, though the emotion igniting his brain were making it near impossible.

They rose awkwardly an hour later, stumbled around each other in a sort of barely contained euphoria, making toast.

Roxas left for work sometime after noon. Neither had been keeping track of time, but they lingered on the corner, waiting for Axel's cab, Roxas's new skateboard in hand. Roxas toed the broken edge of the curb, holding his breath. From the park came the distinct sound of an old song, something rich and longing from the throat of the girl who sold bagels in the hospital lobby. Roxas hesitated a moment longer, then dropped his board, planting it hard against the raised crack in the curb so as not to lose his footing as he stomped up three inches higher, pulling Axel's mouth to his by the back of the other's neck. He tasted a little of the blackberry jam they'd spread on their toast and a little of the cigarette he'd smoked while Roxas called the cab. His hand fisted the fabric of Roxas's shirt just below his shoulder blade while the other gripped the handle of the mailbox.

Across the street, a woman with her hair done in a bob kissed her husband's ruddy cheek in inspiration and pressed his worn leather briefcase to his barreled chest.

Roxas scooped up his board, the bridge of his nose dusted pink. Axel grinned and stepped into the cab.

* * *

"We're meeting everyone for breakfast next Sunday, right?" Sora asked, breaking the barrier of his daydream with the stillness of the shop.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's the only day that's good for Naminé."

"Are you… bringing anyone?" Sora asked, being more obvious than subtle.

Roxas felt his body tense.

"No."

* * *

Tuesday again. Axel pulled Roxas to him slowly, his breath hot against the line of a jaw, slope of throat.

Roxas gave in a second too soon, but it didn't matter because within an instant his body was molded against Axel's, two tectonic plates. The hands dropped a fraction of an inch at a time until they rested at a hip and a thigh. Roxas reached up and twined his fingers as far into Axel's mane of hair as comfort would allow, pressing his palm against the crown of his head. Axel's body fell around him.

* * *

Friday.

Roxas wasn't sure how Friday happened. He hadn't even taken the bus. Axel showed up unexpectedly, practically breaking him when he pushed him against the door, his kiss urgent. Roxas undid the buttons from his shirt with almost wicked patience so that it ended up somewhere in the kitchen in Axel's haste to get through. Roxas's hands found every scar burned and torn into the flesh of his chest. Axel arched his back a little, suppressing a moan.

"Fuck, Roxas."

The room was mostly dark, only light from the bathroom spilling in. Roxas rolled his hips forward none too carefully, stripping his own shirt away. The movement of this was beautiful in its masculinity, and Axel fought the need to say it, choosing rather to sit up, sliding his hand between his knee and Roxas's inner thigh, initiating a chaste kiss. Roxas shuddered against it and leaned back, surrendering himself for a moment.

"I…" he choked out, "I think I'm in love with your hands."

Axel sat up fully, bracing Roxas against his abdomen. His hand tightened against the inseam of the pant leg – the same pants Roxas wore the night he tended to the cut on his knee. Roxas's hips rolled forward again, pleading.

"Wait," Axel commanded, almost harshly. "I don't… it's going to hurt."

Roxas exhaled a shaky breath. "I don't care," he promised, trailing kisses up to Axel's brow, dropping to scrape his teeth in a gentle, claiming bite at the softness below his ear.

"Hold on a little longer," Axel groaned, easing himself back, slipping his hands full, unashamed into his pants, opening the fastenings. Roxas grew dizzy watching until he realized what was happening. He gave his lover space, pulled his eyes away from the perfect lines dipping against the pelvic bones, the coarse red hair. At the foot of his bed, he wrenched open the left drawer and poured an aid over the hardening member. Axel gasped at the indirect contact, coating his pianist fingers in the lubricant, breathing hard as he felt its temperature adjust, spreading his legs to reach for the tight space under his cock.

Roxas pulled at pants, almost to frantic to truly know which were his and which were Axel's. That done, he slipped his hand between svelte thighs, pressing his fingers against Axel's, against taut muscle. Their mouths clashed again, messier. Somewhere between the gasps for air Roxas could make out vehemently broken words. Poetry. Axel pushed him back, softly held his arousal in his hands until Roxas begged, gripping the sheets for the other thing he had taken from the drawer. Axel's hand closed over his when he found it, but paused, lowering his mouth to lick and tease the erect tip. Roxas cried out, his voice dipping into the register he used when he sang words soaked in Pennyroyal Tea and sappy lounge acts. Axel took him full into his mouth, tortured him only a minute, then pulled away, tearing at the condom wrapper.

"Are you sure?" Roxas yearned.

Axel spread the remaining lubricant over the ribbed texture, weighing the sarcoid essence in his palm, rolling it softly.

"_Dead_," he whispered. "I have a pretty amazing fantasy where you take me from bottom."

Roxas put one hand to the mattress and the other to the shaft of manhood hovering anxiously over his abdomen.

* * *

Another morning. Roxas rolled over, pulling the sheets with him. Almost immediately he was spooned against a bare chest, Axel's nose in his hair.

"You asshole," the voice muttered darkly. "Blanket hog."

Roxas smirked against his pillow. "I'll make it up to you."

Axel loosened his grip. "Coffee. I'll make the toast."

Roxas slid out of bed soundlessly and pulled on his pants, sauntering out into the kitchen.

Stopped cold.

The coffee pot was already brewing steadily, a pale-haired man with tones upper arms tending to it.

"Riku. What're you doing in my house." Roxas's blood was already running cold.

"Sora gave me the key. Said you needed help moving your bookshelves?" Sora's boyfriend held up his right hand, on which the spare key twirled. "He called and left you a message last night."

Mentally, Roxas kicked himself.

"Well, can you come back later? I just woke up and–"

"Do we still have jam?" Axel's voice behind him.

Riku stared, then adjusted his shock to a blackmail smile.

Roxas felt his the bridge of his nose fire and shoved his elbow into Axel's chest, pushing him back into the bedroom.

"Come back later," he repeated, shoving Riku toward the living room.

"Sure. I'll let you and your boyfriend enjoy your _breakfast_."

Roxas cursed under his breath. "Not a word to anyone, alright?"

Riku smirked. "Alright. It's more fun watching you squirm under the weight of a secret I have complete access to."

Axel was in the kitchen, buttering toast, his back to Roxas.

"I'm sorry about that…" Roxas began.

"You don't have any jam," Axel interrupted. "And I need to get to work."

He dressed quickly, as though distracted, and left, barely glancing back.

* * *

He wasn't on the bus that night.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Roxas didn't know which stop he got off on, so he cued up the number on his phone, the number he'd never had reason to call.

"Yeah?"

"Axel? Are you okay?"

A pause.

"I've just been busy. Volunteer fire training had a clinic today. I'm kind of tired."

"I just wanted…" Roxas stopped himself. "Are you mad at me?"

The pause that followed was the longest he'd ever waited for anything.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Axel whispered.

Roxas curled into the seat, trapping his ear and the phone against the window. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Is it because I'm a man and you're a man?" Axel retorted. "Or because you met me on a bus? What is it? Why don't your friends and family know about me?"

By the time Roxas realized that the next pause meant Axel had hung up, he was at the stop near Hayner's house.

* * *

"Damn, Rambo. That's though."

Hayner opened his fridge and tosses him a beer. Roxas started to set it down on the counter, but then thought better of it and opened it.

They sat in Hayner's den and played video games.

"So is it over between you?" Hayner asked just as Roxas was contemplating a third beer and at the same time wishing he'd never decided to drink the first.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Well…" Hayner paused the game, seemed to consider that they were having a conversation about something deeply personal. "Do you want it to be over?"

Roxas wished desperately that he had something to hold onto. Preferably something that connected him to Axel. "…no," he said. "I…" he swallowed thickly, the bile of the drink coming up. He couldn't finish that sentence. Not now. He tossed the controller onto a pile of open textbooks and settled down.

"Wake me up in four hours or so. I should be sober by then."

* * *

Of course he wasn't successful that first day. Twilight town had five routes that could eventually end up where Axel got off. At least, according to Roxas's guesses.

On the third night he saw the long coat, the mane of red hair. He followed the bus on his skateboard as discreetly as possible before full on assaulting it at 13th and Tower Road. It was after dark already, and there were plenty of seats to be had. He didn't care. Waiting until after the bus lurched forward he took the handhold in front of Axel, turmoil with anger and fear and something else that was much bigger than anything he'd ever felt.

"Axel."

For three stops he was ignored, but Roxas took it as a good sign that Axel didn't just get off the bus entirely.

"Don't bother," he finally said.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!" Roxas protested, swaying. Axel didn't reach out to steady him.

"It doesn't matter. I get it. I'm only good enough for the sex. I could have been your friend if I didn't want more. It's fucked up. We fucked."

Roxas kicked him in the shin. Hard.

The bus driver sneered in the rear view mirror. The woman with the mile high beehive hairdo whistled and laughed like she was watching TV.

"I made _love_ to you!" Roxas swore. "I…" his anger dissipated. "I love you." He let go of the handhold and steadied himself, feeling powerful. "I've loved you since the first time you came over. And I was afraid. I am afraid. I'm scared because this is real, what I feel. I've never felt… I'd fall asleep listening to your heartbeat and imagine that it was my heart in your ribcage, trying so hard to get out because I'm so goddamn scared of being with someone. I've been scared before, but not like this. Not enough to… I've never liked being scared this much. I've never wanted and needed from someone else like this. I've never wanted to give. So… yeah. I didn't tell anyone about you. I didn't want to risk losing you. _I_ fucked it up."

The bus screeched to a halt. No one got off. The driver pushed the doors open. "Your stop, Ax."

Axel stood, gently pushing Roxas aside.

He left without a word, and in the back of the bus the pregnant woman threw her Nintendo after him and demanded that the bus driver take them all to the hospital. A puddle of clear fluid streamed from her seat to the floor, staining her pants.

* * *

The bus driver called her a cab and it arrived instantly. In a bizarre turn of events, a kid wearing bright red sneakers, the beehive, the woman wearing a rainbow of eye shadow and a business man all pitched in to pay her fare. Roxas curled up in the seat right behind the driver.

It was very late when the bus pulled up to the last stop, clear on the other side of town. Only Roxas and an old lady were left. There was someone waiting for her, and she pouted that old lady sour lemon at him as she was escorted away.

Roxas pulled his jacket tight around him and stared at his shoes.

He felt a liberated. Had it been daylight, would have celebrated. Celebrated, even though his heart was breaking. He had no choice now but to walk home.

Three blocks later he tried calling Sora, but to no avail. He tried Pence, Hayner, Kairi and even Riku. No one. He didn't expect much. It was too late.

At Memory Lane, he heard a car approaching and hoped against hope that it was Pence. He was near where Pence worked anyway.

It was a dark red hybrid, and it rolled right up to the curb. Roxas froze, inhaling sharply as the door opened.

Axel stepped out, and immediately he jumped forward and crushed Roxas in his embrace.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here in the middle of the goddamn night, Roxas?" he demanded. "It's not safe."

And then they were in the car, speeding to Roxas's neighborhood, pulling up to the corner where they'd first kissed.

"You could have been killed," Axel repeated for the eighth time. "I ran into that guy. Riku. He said you tried to call everyone, but he and Sora wanted me to go find you."

"You didn't have to. I'm sorry they bothered you."

"Shut up," he interjected. "You got to give your speech. You're done talking." He turned off the car. "I realized, the second I set foot in my house, that I was being a stubborn asshole. If I wanted… if I doubted for a second what we were I should have said something. I was scared, too. I didn't think I was good enough for you. I should have told you how I feel a long time ago." He reached over, his thumb hovering over Roxas's bottom lip, the pads of his other fingertips lightly hooking his neck. "I love you, too."

Roxas felt the vice gripping his lungs, draining the air from him. He was convinced, too, that he had given Axel his heart and he had Axel's, because he could feel them both desperately beating, trying to get back to themselves.

* * *

After I wrote _Ever Heard of Public Transportation?_, I felt haunted by the way I left it. It was meant to be just for fun. I still like it, but sometimes when I can't get to sleep I stay up thinking about how I could have made it better. The Axel and Roxas that met on a bus deserved a better romance.


End file.
